New Challenges
by caisha702
Summary: As the title indicates, I wrote this and maybe some more for Gethsemane's word-prompt challenge. *Contains spoilers for Catching Fire* no major ones yet
1. Chapter 1

Written for Gethsemane's challenge (which seems to be very popular :)) - just a random theory that occurred to me when I read Catching Fire. No major spoilers but will not make much sense if you haven't read the second book.

As ever, unfortunately I don't own the fabulous characters or setting - Suzanne Collins does.

Opal

As I follow the Peacekeeper down the vast corridor, my feet silent on the blood red carpet, I wrap my arms tightly around myself to try to stop my body from shivering. I cannot help thinking that the whole of this massive house is as cold as the man who lives here.

We come to a halt in front of a huge wooden door, and as my guide knocks softly upon it three times, I know for certain that there can be no turning back. I have made my decision and I am sticking to it. It is for the best anyway. What is the point of joining the losing side?

For they will be the losing side, I am sure of it. There have been rumours of rebellion for years, but in the few short days since the end of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games they have got stronger and more widely spread than ever before. There are people out there, including many of my fellow victors, who want to change the way of life in Panem, who think that the brutal reign of the Capitol should be ended, but I have always thought the opposite. Why should I seek the end of a regime that made me one of the richest and wealthiest people in my district?

It is because of that girl. The girl from District 12. Katniss Everdeen. The one who supposedly rebelled openly against the Capitol to save the life of her district partner who she was in love with to the point of insanity. If you believe that then you believe anything. I don't doubt that she acted in innocence and total ignorance, for I don't suppose for a second that she would have the intelligence to come up with such a plan herself, but there is someone pulling her strings and I have a feeling that it is very soon going to be up to me to find out who.

"Come in," hisses a voice from the other side of the door.

The Peacekeeper steps away and disappears as rapidly down the corridor as he can without running. It seems that even if my heart races slightly with unaccustomed fear then at least I can take comfort in knowing that I am not the only one who feels it. I push the door and it swings quickly open. It is only when I step inside the room and try to close it that it seems to get heavier, making a forbidding creaking sound as it slowly slides back into place.

I turn around, feeling strangely like I did as a child back in the Training Centre of District 2, called into my mentor's office to atone for some crime or another that invariably seemed worth paying the price for at the time. However the eyes that stare unblinkingly into mine aren't those of the man who trained me, but the other worldly, almost black eyes of the one who wields more power than I can even begin to comprehend.

"Enobaria. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see that you are going to make the right choice," is the greeting offered to me by Panem's president, and as I take a seat opposite him, I find myself holding my breath against the overpowering smell of roses. I look at him for as long as I dare before returning my gaze to the mass of folders on his desk.

"This will be the last contact we will have directly. You will meet the one and only person who you will pass information to when you leave here. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I reply. Now that I have got used to the scent of the roses, I notice a heavier, coppery smell in the air that seems familiar to me but I cannot quite place. For some reason it makes me want to leave as soon as I can and prevents me from speaking again.

"They will rebel, sooner or later. It is inevitable. But if you do all that I require of you then you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams, and of course you will be…spared any of the unavoidable consequences."

"I will not let you down."

"No, I don't think that you will. For you are intelligent and you understand the consequences that I refer to," he replies, raising a thin white hand to his throat in a gesture that is full of a meaning which doesn't escape me for a second. I think of the fate that will befall the people of the districts if they rebel, and I feel a very brief pang of guilt and regret as I imagine the only home that I have ever known lying in ruins.

It doesn't last long when I return my focus to President Snow though. My life in exchange for a little bit of information. Homes can be rebuilt. It seems like a fair deal to me.

The president rises from his seat and I do the same, hoping that I will be permitted to leave.

"Come here," he says, and I have no choice but to obey, yet another response that is unfamiliar to one who has grown used to everyone else obeying her. "Turn around," he continues once I have crossed to the other side of the desk.

I cannot help shivering when his cold fingers brush against the back of my neck as he moves my long, black hair out of the way so that he can fasten the clasp of the heavy gold necklace. I look down, raising my hand to lift the pendant that had settled just above my chest, and I am surprised by the beauty of what I see. I have never seen a gemstone like it. It isn't just one colour, it is every colour all at the same time, changing every second in the flickering light of the wall-mounted candles. I don't know what to say in response so I decide that it is safest to say nothing.

"It is a rare opal," says President Snow in answer to my unspoken question. "A gift. Think of it as a small, tangible reminder of the decision you made. The decision that few people outside of this city have the sense to make."

He is inches from me now, and as he speaks I can feel his breath on my face. The smell that I noticed before is suddenly stronger than before, and when I abruptly realise what it is, I have to use all of my mental strength to remain still. Blood. But why is it on his breath? I suspect the answer to that question is something that I really don't want to know.

When he nods once in dismissal, I nod back, making myself walk slowly and steadily across the room and out of the door. Once I have closed it, I lean back against the wall and let out a breath that I hadn't realised I was holding, my hand reaching instinctively for the opal pendant as I silently give thanks that nobody who I ever loved is still alive. I pity everyone who will feel the full devastating force of the Capitol when the time comes, but at least this way it will not be me who suffers the inevitable torture and pain.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't know why I am posting this one as I am really not happy with it - this POV is very strange for me :) I am determined to carry on with the challenges though.

As ever, I would love to know what you think...

Escape

I don't know exactly what time it was when the bombs started to fall. All I know is that it was pitch black outside and that I had fallen asleep in front of the television screen as I have done every night since they took her from us for the second time.

I had raced to the window, where I was shocked to see the first fires burning, and there I still stand, watching District 12 come crashing down around me in waves of fire.

I knew that something had happened when the screen abruptly went blank during the Games just as Katniss had recovered from Johanna's attack. Something was happening that they didn't want us to see, and from what Gale said, I guessed that it had something to do with the rebellion, but I don't think anyone expected the Capitol to act so quickly.

I wish Katniss was here. She would know what to do, and anyway, if she was here then Mother would be in the room with me now instead of spending her days locked upstairs hoping in vain that this nightmare will end.

I feel panic rising inside me as the sound of the planes returns, and I knock my head sharply on the latch of the window when I jump at the next explosion. It is so close to the house that the windows smash, sending a rain of glass down on me, cutting the exposed skin of my face. I hear my mother's terrified screams mingle with my own and that is when I suddenly realise that nobody will come to help us. The rebellion that has been brewing since the end of the Games last year is going to be over before it has properly started. The Capitol mean to annihilate us all in one devastating attack.

"Mother!" I scream in a voice I barely recognise as belonging to me as I hurtle up the stairs. I am so scared. All I can think of is running, of the overwhelming need to escape from this place. I have seen so much in my short life that I should be strong but I know that I am not. Katniss is the strong one, the capable one. I am the one who needs to be looked after, the one who always needs protecting. But who is going to protect me now?

When I throw open the door of her bedroom I see what I have feared more than anything else in the world since Mother finally started to recover from my father's death. She is lying on the bed, curled up in a tight ball, her whole body shaking with the force of her anguished sobs. Doing just what she did when Father died.

"Mother," I whisper as I tentatively reach out to touch her shoulder. "It is the Capitol. They are here. We have to leave."

She turns to face me and I am surprised to see that her tear streaked face looks almost angry. "Leave and go where, Primrose? How far do you think the two of us would get?"

I stare at her in stunned silence. I know that my father would have calmed her down and talked her around, and that, knowing Katniss, my sister would probably have shaken her until she had no choice but to snap out of her trance, but I am neither of them and I don't know what to do.

I take a deep breath and it catches because I am crying at the same time, but I decide that I have to do something, however small. It is what Katniss, who was willing to sacrifice her life for mine, would want. I have to be strong for her. Besides, after all it has done to us, I would rather die trying to escape from the Capitol and it's never ending mindless destruction than here, frightened and isolated in the house that they gave to my sister in exchange for total control of her life.

"We have to escape, Mother. We have to at least try." She looks up at me again, the anger replaced by fear and uncertainty. "It's what Katniss would want. Please."


	3. Chapter 3

I have only two things to say about this one: Firstly that you don't have to tell me how impossible it is - in my defence, Gethsemane made me do it (a very long story...) and secondly, I know that there is a forcefield around the Training Centre, just assume that they don't - I love them both, but in my universe, while not being stupid, neither of them are rocket scientists...

Geth, if you are reading then this is for you!

Fly

It has taken hours to wash all of the silver paint from my body and my skin is now bright pink rather than its usual milky white. I am currently unable to decide whether I itch more than I hurt or the other way around, but the stylists don't think about that, do they? Or if they do then they don't care. I don't see why I needed to wear the awful stuff anyway. The silver bejewelled tunic would have worked perfectly well without it.

I look at my reflection in the mirror as I dress more suitably in a long black dress embroidered with fine gold thread, Capitol-made of course, pleased to see that I don't look as exhausted as I feel. I should go to bed, but I don't see the point as I know that I won't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is the faces of the other tributes, the twenty-three other people who will have to die if I am to live. I could physically kill most of them with my eyes closed, after all, when my father decided that I should train for the Games he spared no expense with my training, but the nearer I get to the moment where I will have to kill or be killed, the less certain I become.

I leave the bathroom and the first person I see is Marvel, my fellow District 1 tribute, his face fixed in it's usual arrogant sneer.

"Where are you running off to? Cashmere is looking for you."

"Why?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

He shrugs his shoulders. "She said something about discussing the interviews."

The second that the words leave his mouth is the second that I know I have to get out of here. Right now. I would never admit it to anyone but myself but I have had enough of the Hunger Games, the Capitol and all of the associated melodrama for one day. I practically run to the door, trying to maintain a little dignity at the same time as getting as far away from my mentor as I possibly can.

"Glimmer! Is that you? Come here and sit down. It is never too early to start planning for your three minutes of fame!"

I cringe as my mentor calls after me and keep walking. Three minutes of fame? I think that Cashmere has missed the point somewhere. If I am to become famous then it will take not only a lot more time but also a lot more blood, death and destruction than could possibly occur in a three minute television interview.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I make it through the main door and into the narrow white corridor that leads to and from my district's quarters. I stand with my back leaning against the door for several minutes, knowing that I can't stay here forever but at the same time really not wanting to go back inside. It is the sound of high heels approaching from the other side of the door that finally drives me from the corridor and sends me in search of another hiding place.

I push the lift button, wait for it to arrive and walk inside before I realise that I have no idea where I am going. I don't suppose that we are allowed to wander around downstairs. Not that I want to anyway. Downstairs is sure to mean more Capitol people.

I am about to give up, resigning myself to the fact that I can't avoid Cashmere forever, when I notice the button which has 'roof' written above it in elaborate gold letters. I push it quickly, deciding that if I am not allowed up there then I will find out soon enough. What is the worst that could happen? They can't exactly kill me. I would be far too difficult to replace, especially as Gloss has told me that they are queuing up to sponsor me already.

The lift opens out onto a glass dome but I can feel the fresh air from here, cool and soothing on my abused skin.

As I start to walk in a circuit around the edge of the roof, on all sides I can see the bright lights of the Capitol which seem to stretch on for all eternity. I have always thought of District 1, obviously the most superior and civilised of all the districts, as a miniature version of Panem's great city, but seeing this I know that it is not so. Nothing I have ever seen could possibly compare to this. But at least the self-obsessed and other-worldly people who call this place home cannot find me here. Here I am alone.

As I slowly make my way around the top of the Training Centre, I get to a small garden, something so unexpected in such an artificial place. It is then that I notice that I am not as alone as I thought I was.

I know that he has seen me but he makes no move to leave, he just sits leaning against one of the pots, staring unblinkingly into the distance. I have never seen anyone quite like this man before. Dark skinned and massively tall and muscular, he has to be the man I know only as District 11. I look at the tattered and torn shirt that he wears, and my first thought is that I am surprised they let him bring such a shabby item of clothing anywhere near the Capitol. Seeing that he wears no shoes confirms my long-held suspicions that District 11 really is the lowliest, poorest and most uncivilised district in Panem.

"You gonna stand there starin' at me all night, Capitol-girl?"

I am too taken aback to speak for a second, and when I do I find myself saying the first thing that comes into my head. "What did you call me?"

"You heard."

"Why?"

"They really are stupid in District 1, aren't they?" he says, looking me up and down. "You look just like one of them." he explains, his low and strangely accented voice full of hatred as he spits out the last word.

"You think that _you _can call _me_ stupid? When you are from District 11?" I snap, laughing at the same time. "Besides, I look nothing like them."

He looks at me with eyes as black as the night sky that seem to see right inside my mind. "A sponsor's dream," he replies, and I know for certain by his tone of voice that he is mocking me.

Losing my temper, more due to tiredness caused by having to spend the past few days entirely suppressing my emotions than any real anger, I close the distance between us, glaring down at him fiercely. "Who do you think you are? You don't know the first thing about me. You don't even know my name."

"I know you're a trained killer," he replies, standing up a lot more quickly than I would have thought possible for someone of his size and stature. I'm not used to having to look up at people but I find that I have to put my head right back so that I can meet his eyes without stepping back as he continues. Reluctant participant in the Games I might be, but I am still a Career Tribute and a representative of District 1, and I am determined not to let him think he can intimidate me. "You'd kill me if you had the chance, Capitol-girl."

"Don't call me that. My name is Glimmer."

"That figures," he says with what I imagine is as close to a smirk as he can get.

"Just go away and leave me alone."

"I was here first," he says simply, sitting back down again and ignoring me completely.

I walk back over to the wall that surrounds the roof, deliberately turning my back on him, still trying to show him that I am not afraid, and as I look out across the city, I find to my disgust that I am struggling to hold back my tears. What would my father say? My stern and unforgiving father who hit me for the first time at eight years old because I cried when he told me that I had to train for the Hunger Games.

I angrily wipe the tears from my face, irritating my already irritated skin even further. I dread to think what I must look like, with my reddened skin and teary eyes. I look down at my dress. Black has never been my colour, so I don't suppose that that is helping to improve the picture very much either. I don't think that anybody would want to sponsor me now.

I can't help laughing slightly to myself at that thought, and my apparent hysteria continues as I give in to the sudden urge that I have to pull myself up onto the top of the wall, balancing easily on the narrow ledge to stare down at the huge drop below.

"What d'you think you're doing?!"

"What does it look like I'm doing, District 11? I just fancied seeing if I could fly or not."

I turn away from him, dancing along the wall, confident in my ability to keep my balance but at the same time being unable to stop myself from considering if it would really be so bad if I took a single step to my right and deprived the Capitol people of the pleasure they will undoubtedly get from seeing me kill for their entertainment.

I don't get to dwell on that thought any further though, because the next thing I know I am pulled violently from the wall, crashing back onto the roof to land at the feet of a very angry looking District 11.

"Don't even think of it!" he shouts, his voice almost deafening in the silence.

I gasp for breath for a second before answering him. "Why not? Are you that desperate to have a shot at me in the arena?"

"I've seen someone do…that. It's not pretty."

"And that would never do, would it?" I find myself shouting back at him as I pull myself to my feet with as much grace as I can manage. He immediately grabs my arm with an impossibly strong grip, as if he thinks that I am going to throw myself from the building if he lets go. I have no idea why he should care if I did. "It would never do for me to look anything other than my best! I am sure that my appearance will be my first concern when I am fighting for my life!"

"Why are you so angry? You chose this."

"Shows how little you know," I snarl, pulling my arm back with increasing desperation when he doesn't let me go. He is so infuriating. Here I am, struggling against him with all of my strength and he just stands there looking down at me like I am not even trying.

"Why are you so angry, Capitol-girl?" he repeats.

"I told you not to call me that," I say, swinging my free arm around to hit him and failing miserably to have any effect. He holds me still while I shake with rage, saying nothing when that rage is abruptly replaced with floods of tears as I breakdown completely in a way that I have never done before.

He half carries me back to the small garden and away from the wall, pulling me down with him when he sinks to the floor. I cry and cry until I have no tears left and then I just sit there in the strong arms of my enemy, too exhausted to move.

"Not many get to choose their fate, Glimmer," he says, breaking several minutes of silence. "Maybe it's true what you say, maybe you didn't choose this, but there's nothin' you can do about it now. Don't let them see they've beaten you. That's when they win and you lose."

I don't know what to say to that, not only because of his honesty but also because of the total lack of hatred for me in his voice. Why does he not hate me? He should. In less than a week when we get in the arena I will kill him given less than half a chance. Despite the huge difference in our size and strength, he has had no training, I could kill him easily. So why do I feel like the vulnerable one?

Realising the direction that my thoughts are heading, I suddenly jump to my feet. I cannot do this. I have to hate these people. The other tributes are my enemies, the ones who stand between me and getting back to District 1. I take a deep breath and glare at him once more.

"This never happened. Do you understand me? It never happened."

He looks up at me. "If you say so, Capitol-girl."

"Back to 'Capitol-girl' now, are we? It goes to show how lacking District 11 is when it comes to intelligence if you can't remember my name."

"I'm not talkin' to Glimmer now. You've put your mask back on."

I stop breathing as it hits me that what he said is true. For my entire short adult life I have been hiding behind a wall that I have put up so that nobody can see what I really feel. I hate the Games, I hate the vanity of the Capitol and above all I hate the fact that nobody ever looks beyond my physical appearance, that nobody bothers to see who I really am, and yet not a single soul has ever known any of these things, not until now. Now, despite barely saying a word, I have somehow bared my soul to a poor and uneducated orchard worker from the most downtrodden and pathetic district in the country, and there is nothing that I can do to take it back. It is when I realise that I don't want to take it back that I know I have to leave this place and never return.

"Not a word to anyone," I repeat as I turn away from him, stopping when he speaks once more.

"On one condition," he says as he gets to his feet and looks down at me.

"What?"

"No more thoughts of flying."

I nod in agreement and walk slowly away, and as I do so I hear him speak once more.

"Your secret will die with me soon enough."

**First and only story with this combination, I am sure. I am, however, not sure if I am brave enough to ask you what you think, but you know where the review button is if you have an opinion...**


	4. Chapter 4

This is for be-nice-to-nerds (*waves*) as requested (Lucas belongs to her and is written properly in her fabulous story 'Cripple') :)

It is technically the original end of Chapter 6 of my first story 'A Fox's View' so it probably doesn't make much sense if you haven't read that. I don't think that there are that many of you reading this one but as it seems to be rapidly becoming 'request-a-oneshot' rather than a challenge response then feel free to make sensible suggestions for other chapters if you want to...

This has to be my most tenuous use of a prompt yet but I wanted to post it here anyway.

Animal

The crowd is still buzzing with excitement following Peeta's revelations even after they have dimmed the lights and the cameras have stopped rolling. I look at the stunned look on Katniss's face and quickly realise that she is as shocked as the rest of us by her district partner's interview.

I take as deep a breath as I can manage considering the restrictions caused by Claudius's second and most deadly implement of torture, which isn't very deep at all. I wish that my stylist considered his tribute's ability to breathe as being a priority, but I have been suffering the consequences of that particular factor's relative unimportance all night, and I have well and truly had enough. It has already been several minutes since the end of the interviews and they still won't let us leave. How much longer can this go on for? I am losing what little will to live I have left here.

Looking down at the pale skin of my arms, feeling incredibly exposed in the dress which, apart from suffocating me, seems to have the sole purpose of transforming me into something I'm not, I try to decide which was worse, the interview or the Opening Ceremony. As both were equally as horrendous I struggle to make up my mind, but with the start of the Games being as close as it is, I am willing to do anything to keep my mind off the arena. Despite the relatively warm night, I shiver violently at the thought of tomorrow.

I actually sigh with relief when I notice the Capitol officials approaching the stage and signalling for us to stand. For once they are issuing an order that I am only too happy to obey, so I do as I am told very quickly, scanning the vast stage as I do.

I see Glimmer rise gracefully to her feet in her revealing golden dress, noticing immediately how she seems to be in almost as much of a rush to leave the stage as I am, despite her confident performance in her interview. Maybe she doesn't like the dress as much as I first thought. As I see her wrap her arms around herself and then a split second later force them back down to her sides with a huge amount of effort and a vicious scowl, all I can think is that if she could face Caesar and the entire nation like she did when she feels so degraded and uncomfortable then she should have been an actress not a Career Tribute.

The still nameless boy from her district follows her closely, only taking his eyes off her to wave nonchalantly at the crowd, who are showing no signs of leaving in case they miss any last minute events at what must, for them at least, be the most exciting Hunger Games interviews that they have seen for a very long time.

Once District 1 have vanished from my view it is my turn to start walking forwards, and I stare straight ahead, trying to avoid looking at the audience, worried that my disgust for those who are so entertained by the prospect of my death will show on my face. I watch Cato, who walks so closely behind Clove that he blocks her completely from both my view and the crowd's, as he descends the narrow staircase, before a shout of my name distracts me.

I quickly find the person who called, a Capitol boy who looks a few years older than me. He is standing near the front of the crowd. I stare at him, or should I say I stare at the single diamond earring he wears in his right ear which catches the light as he moves. Back in District 5, that diamond would be worth more than the whole of Laboratory 7, and I am sure that the governor, Lucius, would sell the workers along with the building in exchange for it given less than half a chance.

The boy winks at me and waves, looking predatory rather than friendly and reassuring. I feel strangely like a caged animal, looking for a way out that isn't there, which, when I think about it, isn't that strange really, for that is exactly what I am. I narrow my eyes at him and look sharply away. I don't care how rich he is, even if he really wanted to sponsor me, even if it was the difference between life and death in the arena, I wouldn't want money from the likes of him.

As I re-enter the Training Centre, I look around to see that some of the escorts have come to meet their tributes to take them back upstairs. I look for Icarus, my heart sinking at the prospect of seeing him, but I am relieved to see that he is obviously still sulking and is nowhere to be found. Good. Being forced to discuss the latest trends in skin dyes is the last thing I need when there is a good chance that I have just seen the sun set for the final time.

I am about to approach the lifts, but then I see Cato and Clove and decide to wait. The memory of the last time I ended up in a confined space with District 2 is still vivid in my memory and I am in no rush to repeat the experience.

I watch as the two Careers disappear into the next lift that arrives, cutting a path through the mass of waiting escorts and tributes easily, before approaching the three sets of sliding doors myself. I look behind me and notice that Alecto is still standing by the huge entrance doors, watching the scene before him with wide-eyed and very obvious fear. I don't know what I think of my district partner anymore. I tried hating him but it didn't work. He is not the sort of person who is easy to hate and when I see him I can feel only pity. I wonder if that is what the other tributes think when they see me? Probably not. I don't think that it would be as hard to hate me as it is my district partner. Not that that bothers me. If I have to choose between them then I would much rather be hated than pitied. I don't want anyone feeling sorry for me.

I catch the eye of a brown-haired boy who is waiting by the lift doors, staring at me intently. I return his stare and he looks swiftly away, but as soon as I head towards the lift I can feel his eyes on me again. I walk to the back of the lift and turn to face the doors. It seems to take him forever to follow behind me, and when he limps inside with the aid of a walking stick then I suddenly realise why.

I hadn't paid much attention to the boy from District 10, barely giving him a thought when I observed him struggling through training, but after tonight I will remember him. When I look into his pale blue eyes I see the determination that I hope he sees in me, not a determination to win but a determination not to let the Capitol win, to not let them turn us into the animals that they believe us to be.

He looks intently at me for a few seconds and I struggle to stop myself from turning away. The only thing that Claudius achieved with this dress is to make me feel even more insecure about my physical appearance than ever, and I am secretly hoping that it will remain on our floor of the Training Centre after I have taken it off for long enough for me to steal it and have a ceremonial bonfire using it.

"You look-" he starts but I don't let him finish.

"Just don't. I look ridiculous, I know. Like a little girl from the Capitol dressed in her mother's evening clothes."

He smiles at my comment, shaking his head. "I was actually going to say that you look different, that's all."

"You don't" I reply defensively.

"There are only so many ways that they can dress a poor, doomed, crippled boy," he says, not quite masking the bitterness in his voice.

"If that is truly the opinion they have of you then I don't think for a second that you share it," I retort as I press the lift buttons for levels 5 and 10.

"You think you know everything, don't you, Lysandra?"

"Not everything, Lucas, but a lot more than most people in this place," I reply, emphasising his name so he can see that he hasn't escaped my notice despite how hard he seems to have been trying to blend into the background.

"Such arrogance, District 5. Especially coming from a girl whose neck any of the Careers could snap with their bare hands."

"They'll have to catch me first," I reply, my confidence returning now that intelligence rather than appearance is the topic of conversation.

He laughs at that and I can't help smiling in return. The more I see of Lucas, the more convinced I become that he has been giving one endless performance ever since the day of the reaping. This perceptive and intelligent person isn't the defenceless idiot that those blinded by his disability are convinced that they see. I find myself wishing that I could keep talking to him and feel disappointment when the lift glides to a halt and the bell rings.

"Don't forget your walking stick," I say with a knowing smile as I leave the lift.

"Don't forget that nightlock berries are poisonous, will you, Lysandra?" he replies, and it is only when I am standing in the corridor and the lift has disappeared that I understand his meaning. He is talking about the edible plants test in training, and that means he knows that I was performing just as much as he was.

I shake my head slightly. I should be grateful that the boy from 10 has his crippled foot, because he is the only person I have seen who might just be capable of outsmarting me, but if I think that then what does that make me? I know for certain that if I think that way then I will have become the animal that the Capitol take me for, and there is no way that I will allow them even that small victory.


	5. Chapter 5

I don't know what to say about this other than my links to the prompts are as vague as ever and I still have a thing about avoiding the main characters and creating personalities for the really obscure ones :) This is for foxforever23 - you're still fabulous, as are those of you who left me a review last time!

Oddity

It is eight years since I won the Games, and as I look into the huge, gold-framed mirror, I am pleased to see that the woman looking back at me hasn't changed a lot since then. It makes me smile to think that people in the Capitol pay extortionate amounts of money and endure many hours of surgery to look half as good as I do naturally. Yes, that does sound like extreme arrogance even to me, but it is the truth so why deny it? We have good genes in District 1 and I have never lacked beauty, even back home.

I jump slightly at the sharp knock on the door, before tucking a stray curl of my golden hair behind my ear and crossing the luxurious Capitol dressing room to answer it. Hopefully it will be the ridiculous prep team, here to tell me that they are finally ready to begin transforming my latest charge for the Opening Ceremony. Not that Glimmer needs much transforming.

"Yes?" I say when I open the door, looking down at a thin, purple-haired man who is obviously misguided enough to think that orange, red and fluorescent pink make for a well-coordinated outfit.

"We will be ready for your tributes in a few minutes," he says in his ridiculously high-pitched voice. He is almost out of the door before he hesitates and turns back to me. "And your brother is asking for you."

I'm not surprised. Gloss hates the brash, noisy and over-the-top Capitol as much as I have come to adore it, and he often relies on me to mediate between him and those he refers to as the 'people from the other world'.

I follow the man into the corridor until I get to the waiting room that we were abandoned in, taking a deep breath and straightening my back before pushing the door open. Surprisingly, the first person I hear is not my brother.

"Are they ready yet?" asks a very arrogant sounding voice. I turn to face Marvel, smiling at him through gritted teeth. I have always made the effort to be nice to each and every tribute I mentor, remembering that the combination of the Games and visiting a place like the Capitol for the first time is never an easy task to deal with, but I don't think it has ever been such a struggle. I have met a lot of people over my years as a Hunger Games victor, and virtually all of them have either wanted me to do something for them or, more commonly, wanted something from me, but I can honestly say that very few of them have been as obnoxious as the boy who is staring at me now.

"Not yet. In a few minutes," I reply, speaking to everyone in the room rather than only to him.

"What's the problem?" asks my brother as he crosses the room to sit next to Glimmer before Marvel can get there. I watch with a smile at the disappointment that shows all too visibly on the boy's face. He's going to have to hide his emotions better than that if he's going to last very long in the arena.

"I don't know," I answer. "Something to do with the jewels on the tunics, apparently."

"Jewels?" questions Marvel, but Gloss and I ignore him and turn to look at Glimmer, who has barely said a word since we arrived.

She's a strange one, my tribute girl. So very beautiful, possessing beauty that makes even me look almost ordinary, and yet so cold. It is as if she doesn't want to be here despite the fact that she volunteered. The crowd chanted her name as well as mine when we arrived at the station, almost like she had already been crowned the victor, but she remained unmoved and resolutely silent. When the reporters bombarded her with questions and virtually begged her to stand still for their pictures, she smiled grimly and kept walking, clearly trying to get to the Remake Centre as quickly as possible.

Even as we sit here waiting, I want to ask her why. I want to know what happened to her, a girl who could have had virtually anything she wanted based on her looks alone, to make her so seemingly emotionless, but when I look at her I simply don't know where to start. I don't share my brother's ability to see past her external façade to see the real person underneath and, uncharacteristically for me, I wish that I did.

"Are jewels up to your high and exacting standards, my lady?" asks Gloss, teasing her gently in a way that I have rarely seen since our childhood. He is attracted to her, I can tell, which is unusual for him as he has always kept his distance from the tributes before.

She smiles at him in return, probably the first genuine smile that I have seen.

"I suppose they will have to do," she answers in her precise and refined voice, so similar to mine and yet so different at the same time. I think she is teasing him back, but it is so difficult to tell with her that I am not certain.

"Only the best for the best district," I say brightly, hoping that the stylists will hurry up and sort out their problems. I think that Gloss and I should swap tributes as he seems to deal with her a lot better than I do.

I smile as the door opens, thinking that my salvation has eventually arrived, only to see that it is not the small, purple-haired representative of the style team who walks through the door but the bronze-haired and outrageously attractive Finnick Odair. My smile transforms abruptly into a fierce scowl in response.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?"

He saunters across the room and puts his arms around me. "When are you going to give in to me, sweet Cashmere?" he asks in a theatrical, sing-song voice. "You can only keep up this pretence of disdain for so long."

"Hell will freeze over before I give in to you, District 4," I reply acidly. He might think he is nature's gift to the women of Panem but I still remember the first time that I truly noticed Finnick Odair. It was nine years ago, the day that he was competing in the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games and my seventeen-year-old self watched on a television screen as he threw a net over my best friend and murdered her with his trident. I don't think that he even remembers her but I will never forget. I remember the second that the cameras focussed on Sapphire as the light in her eyes went out forever and I will never forgive him.

"You can't lie to me and to yourself forever, Cashmere," he says silkily as I disentangle myself from him and retreat to Gloss's side.

"I will tell you the truth for forever and a day, District 4."

"After nearly ten years, I'd have thought we would have progressed to you using my name when you insult and deny me, _District 1."_

"What do you want, Finnick?" interrupts Gloss before I can respond.

"We got here early so I just thought I'd come and take a look at the competition," he replies with a smile. A smile that broadens considerably when he sees Glimmer. "Now I'm so glad that I did."

Despite my earlier observations, I am surprised by the strength and vehemence behind my brother's reaction when he steps forward to block Finnick's view of a very emotionless and unfazed-looking Glimmer.

"Stay away from her. She is not for you."

"I think that she can decide for herself what she wants, don't you?" replies Finnick, an edge appearing in his voice for the first time. He and my brother have been heading for a fight for years and it seems that my tribute is providing them with the perfect excuse. I look at her once again and see that, if anything, she looks vaguely amused that two of the most attractive and desirable men in Panem are arguing over her.

"Go and harass your own tributes," I say, stepping forwards to stand between him and my brother. I can just imagine the headlines that would appear in the papers if they were seen fighting in the Remake Centre.

"But it's so much more fun here. Here I get to harass you too."

"Just leave," I snap, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the door. "Leave before I make you."

"Do you really think you still could?" he asks, laughing. "The Sixty-Sixth Games were a long time ago, Cashmere. You might have been lethal then but you look a bit out of condition to me."

"Why don't you try me and find out, District 4?" I snarl at him, and this time it is Gloss who steps in front of me.

When Finnick responds by standing there and staring at me, his expression fixed in a much practiced look of desire rather than one of anger, clearly being as deliberately provoking as ever, I walk to the door myself.

"There are people here in the Capitol who will do anything for me. Don't forget that."

"You know of old what lengths they will go to to help me, Cashmere. Make sure you don't forget either," he retorts with a smile, before taking a last look at Glimmer and finally leaving.

"What I wouldn't give for the chance to knock some of that arrogance out of him," says Gloss as soon as the door closes.

"Maybe you will get the chance one day," answers Glimmer as she rises gracefully to her feet and crosses the room to stand by my side, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Is it really going to take all day for them to prepare me for tonight?"

I look at her appraisingly as if I am seeing her for the first time, and I am surprised when she returns my smile.

"I highly doubt it," I reply eventually, and her smile doesn't fade until Marvel crosses the room to stare at her too.

"Of course it won't. You're already beautiful," he says, looking at her greedily.

The mask reappears abruptly on her face and her voice is cold when she answers him. "And look where being beautiful got me."

Her comment puzzles me greatly, but I don't have time to think anymore about it because there is a knock at the door. It swings open before I can answer it to reveal my purple-haired friend from earlier.

"They are ready for him now. It will be a few minutes more for her."

"Go on then," says Gloss to Marvel. The young man's bravado visibly falters as he looks from my brother to the man from the Capitol, but Gloss's hard expression doesn't change. "You're a grown man remember. You said yourself that you don't need my help."

Marvel blushes deeply and leaves the room staring at the floor.

"You are cruel, brother dearest," I say through my laughter.

"He earned that, Cash, and you know it."

"I know, but try to play nicely," I reply lightly, before turning my attention back to Glimmer. "They will be back for you in a short time. Do you want me to come with you?"

"I'll be fine," she answers, not giving anything away as usual.

"You have to win the crowd, you know that don't you? I have never seen you fight but at a guess I would say that you're good but that you won't beat D2 without something to give you the advantage. If you want to leave the arena alive then you have to do what I did. Seduce the crowd. Make the men want you and the women want to be you, then you might go home."

She looks at me and nods, but it is a nod of grim determination rather than agreement. She knows what she has to do but that doesn't mean that she wants to actually do it. I have no idea why it should be so, but I cannot help thinking that this is going to be really difficult for her.

***

When he returns for Glimmer, the purple-haired man isn't alone. He is accompanied by another man and a woman, both as garishly dressed as he is. No matter how many times I visit the Capitol, I never get used to the amount of colours that they feel the need to wear at the same time. They crowd into the tiny room, gawping at Glimmer like they have never seen another like her as they usher her out of the door. Her face is like a stone sculpture, stunningly beautiful but frozen and ice-cold.

As the door closes, I flop back onto one of the velvet-covered armchairs, sighing deeply.

"Why is nothing ever simple?"

"What do you mean?"

"Last time we mentored, we had a tribute girl who thought herself worthy of appearing in a Capitol fashion show but she looked like she shared a gene pool with the unattractive half of District 3. Now we have the best-looking tribute in the history of the Hunger Games, but she hates the Capitol and looks at her potential sponsors with contempt that is so thinly veiled that the veil is practically transparent. Surely she understands that I am only telling her what she should do for her own good? She must know that I want her to live."

"She knows. Don't get so worked up. The sponsors will just think she's a fighter as well as a beauty."

"Is that what you think?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in my brother's direction.

"Don't start, Cashmere," he replies, the hint of a warning not to push him in his voice.

This time though, I choose not to heed the warning in the way that I usually do. "I didn't start anything. You did. Don't think for a second that I haven't seen the way you look at her. I know you, Gloss. That isn't just lust in your eyes."

"So what if it isn't? So what if I did start it? She will win the Games, I know she will."

"And what if she doesn't? You know as well as I do that the odds are never brilliant, even for one as well trained as she is."

"Maybe I'm just not as practical in my emotions as you are," he starts, closing the distance between us as his voice increases in volume. "Maybe I haven't become as superficial as you have."

I slap him hard across the face, and the sound of my skin connecting with his rings around the room like a gunshot. However, my anger leaves me as abruptly as it arrived, and I reach up to cover the reddened area of his skin with my hand. He doesn't step away.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. He lowers my hand but doesn't let it go.

"I shouldn't have said that. It's just affecting me more this time around."

"Maybe now you begin to understand how I felt seven years ago," I say, referring to when I had had to watch him compete in the Games the year after my own victory. He doesn't reply immediately, and we stand in silence for a few minutes before he eventually speaks again.

"I'm going to check on progress." I know before he continues that he has no intention of going anywhere near Marvel. "Somebody needs to make sure that what they are planning is worthy of her."

How typical of my brother. How like him to lose his heart for the first time in his life virtually overnight to a tribute girl who has more issues than anyone I have ever known and may not live to see the end of next week.

As I watch him leave, I consider the oddity who is my tribute girl. 'My tribute girl'. I have called all of the tributes I have mentored 'mine' almost subconsciously, both to myself and in public, and yet it doesn't sound right to refer to Glimmer that way. Anybody can see that she belongs to nobody but herself.

Do I understand her? Certainly not. But do I want to do everything in my power to ensure that she lives? Definitely, and not just for my brother's sake.


	6. Chapter 6

**I wrote this months and months ago but it doesn't even have a title and I didn't post it because I thought he is a bit out of character even if she is OK. It's here because it kind of follows on from Chapter 3 rather than because it fits in with any of the prompts (sorry Geth ;) - I hope you're reading anyway as you helped to create this ridiculous pairing!).**

**This is for Sister to the Wolf - I can't reply to you by PM but I would still like to say thanks for all of the lovely reviews you've left me. You made my day!**

I sigh with relief when Atala announces that training is over for the day. I wish that I didn't have to go. There doesn't seem much point when I have been training for almost as long as I can remember. I hardly think three extra days is going to make any real difference. Still, I suppose that it's an improvement on the Remake Centre and discussing my strategy with Cashmere. I know that she means well and I don't dislike her, I just find what she asks of me hard enough without having to talk about it all day. Having the Capitol people staring at her like she is something they can order off a restaurant menu might not bother her but I cannot stand it when they do the same to me.

As I leave the gymnasium with the other tributes, the first person I notice is the man from District 11. He is always the first person I notice, however much I wish he wasn't. The truth is that I have thought about him far too often since I saw him on the roof last night and nothing I say or do seems to change that.

I watch as he guides his tiny district partner through the mass of people to a lift, making sure that she is safely inside and then standing in front of the doors rather than following behind her, glaring at Arturo and Varia as they attempt to get into the lift until they change their minds and move to the next one in search of easier, less defended prey.

Considering what is between Marvel's mentor and I, I shouldn't think about District 11 in the same way that I think about him, but I cannot help comparing the two men. Gloss is handsome and well-educated, and a good man by District 1's standards, a good man by anywhere's standards really, so why am I stood here staring at a poor and uncivilised orchard worker who I will be expected to kill in less than a week's time?

I am about to walk to the nearest lift but a second later I change my mind, deciding to do something that I should have done last night. He was good to me, and he is the only person I can remember who has ever been good to me without expecting something in return, so I owe him this much. The fact that I want to talk to him again is irrelevant. I reach up and unfasten my clip, shaking my head so that my golden hair cascades in waves all the way down my back, before walking slowly across the room, feeling everyone's eyes on me, including his.

I stop a short distance from where he stands, still in front of the lift that has just taken the girl up to the eleventh floor, and he looks me up and down appraisingly. I am furious with myself when I realise the shiver of revulsion that is my usual response to such a look is suddenly nowhere to be found.

"What do you want, Capitol-girl? If you're going to ask me to join you in the arena like your friend did, then you're wasting your time."

"At least you are speaking to me. That's more of a response than Arturo got."

"He got the response he deserved. And you know what response you're going to get, don't you? Flicking your hair and batting your eyelashes might work with most people but not with me."

"I must have had some effect though or you wouldn't have noticed," I reply with a sly smile. "How do you know that I want you as an ally anyway, District 11?" He either doesn't seem to know how to answer that or chooses not to reply, so I continue. "What is your name anyway? I can't keep calling you 'District 11'."

"You shouldn't be calling me anything. Do your Career friends know you're here?"

"They don't control me. Nobody does."

"My name's Thresh."

"That figures," I say with a smirk. He returns my look, not missing how I echoed his response to me when I told him my name.

"Glimmer, what do you want? Everyone here is playing games and it's sending me mad. Just get to the point."

I look around to check that there is nobody listening to our conversation but all of the other tributes have gone, leaving us alone. "Don't join us. Stay well away. Please. Get what you can from the Cornucopia and leave."

He looks at me sharply, the surprise clear to see on his face. "I thought you Careers wanted me to join you."

"They do. Cato and Clove think you will be useful to them. The rest think that if you join us then you will be one less to worry about until the bloodbath is over."

"And what do you think, Capitol-girl?" he asks, closing the distance between us and staring into my eyes so intensely that I am almost hypnotised and can't look away. When he calls me 'Capitol-girl' in that tone of voice, it suddenly doesn't sound like an insult anymore.

For a minute I can't speak, and when I eventually do, my voice is little more than a whisper. "If you join us they will kill you. They will kill you quickly because you are too much of a threat for them to let you live."

"That's what they think they will do, but that isn't what I asked," he continues, not stepping back and not looking away even for a second.

What is it about this man? Why does he make me react like this? Even before I became old enough for such treatment not to cause a scandal, I have been harassed and propositioned by countless people in countless different ways, and I have been forced to become adept at sending them away, at never allowing my façade of ice-cold indifference to crack. So why am I standing here trembling under his gaze, feeling more powerless than I have ever felt before? I look away, trying to regain my composure, but he doesn't allow it for long.

Raising a dark-skinned, calloused hand to my chin, he lifts my head so that I have to look at him once more. "Answer me."

"You don't deserve this. I don't want you to die," I say suddenly, my words escaping my lips before I can stop them. "Is that what you want to hear?"

The sound of approaching footsteps makes me jump backwards and we both turn to face the gymnasium doors.

"How are the negotiations going? Are you coming around to our way of thinking, District 11? I'm sure that Glimmer is a lot more persuasive than Arturo," says Cato as he walks over to us.

I barely hear what Thresh says, as he whispers so quietly. So quietly that I know he had no intention of Cato hearing him. "Yes," he breathes, before he continues in a much louder voice. "I won't join you. You know that."

"Why be on the losing side?"

"There are no sides in the Hunger Games, you know that as well as I do. If I'm going to die then I will die as myself. I won't betray my district whatever any of you say."

"How is joining us betraying your district?"

Thresh responds by answering Cato's question with one of his own. "What do you fight for, District 2? Power? Glory? Fame?"

"There's only one thing that I fight for, and you didn't come close to guessing. You wouldn't understand what I fight for. What I fight for is everything to me, worth dying for."

I look at Cato's coldly handsome face and wonder what he means. I know a little about the way tributes are trained in District 2 and therefore I know that considering the possibility of death is not normally an option. Why would this man, who has given me every impression today that he is the strongest and best trained fighter the Games has seen for many years, consider his own defeat?

There is only one explanation that I can think of. That the 'what' that he fights for isn't a 'what' but a 'who'. At that thought it suddenly all makes sense. Seeing District 2 have a girl whose name was drawn from the reaping ball go to the Capitol instead of a volunteer, the way Clove glared at me when I tried to attract Cato's attention at the Opening Ceremony, the way Cato laughed at her response when Varia asked if they knew each other before the Games. Cato and Clove are lovers, and have been since way before they were both sent here. And the only way that he can keep her alive is by dying himself.

I look at the floor for a few minutes while Cato and Thresh argue about the alliance, hoping that my sudden understanding will not be visible on my face. I had thought Cato to be a brutal and emotionless killing-machine, but despite knowing that it is dangerous for me to start considering him differently, I know that I will never see him in the same way again.

"That's my final answer," says Thresh loudly, interrupting my thoughts as he turns and walks towards the lifts.

I follow him and, to my great disappointment, Cato follows me. As we all get into the same lift, I push the buttons for our three levels, meeting Thresh's eyes for a second. He nods slightly to me, acknowledging that he has put an end to the prospect of his alliance with myself and the other Careers, and when the bell rings for Level 1, I find that I want nothing more than to keep going up for another ten floors.


	7. Chapter 7

**I haven't updated this one for ages! I wasn't going to but I was sorting files on my laptop and found four more oneshots that were supposed to be for Gethsemane's challenge. Originally they weren't going anywhere because for one reason or another, I didn't like them, but I guess they might as well go somewhere. Geth, if you're reading, I said I would do twenty-four but I don't think I will get that far. Will four more do? **

**My first attempt at (relatively) meaningless fluff. Anyone who recognises my user name on here will know who this is... ;)**

Bracelet

When she lines the knives up along the table in front of her, everyone in the massive gymnasium stops to watch. The Gamemakers, the trainers, the assistants and especially the other tributes all fall silent and still, as if they sense that she isn't just playing. I am no different. I watch with the rest as my beautiful, lethal girl hits the tiny, distant target with every weapon that leaves her hand, feeling a strange mixture of pride and grief, seeing the fear she is inducing in their eyes and yet knowing that we will be parted from each other in a very short time because they will only let one of us live. It will be her who does.

As she throws the last knife she is already looking around at her audience, her face a picture of satisfaction and arrogance. That is until her eyes meet mine. To any of the others watching, I am sure that her expression doesn't change, but I know her better than I know myself. I see the subtle lowering of her silver eyes and the way she lifts her right hand to rub her left wrist, the only visible sign of unease that she makes, a subconscious gesture I have known since childhood.

She pushes her shirt sleeve back when she realises she's doing it, covering up what she sees as a sign of weakness by hurriedly rolling the other sleeve back too. My eyes are drawn immediately to the ring of bruises that encircles her wrist, bruises that I had unintentionally put there only yesterday, demonstrating my disapproval of her suggestion that she should try allying with the man from District Eleven. Not that she would ever consider it really. I know that, but even after all the years she has been mine, I still can't bear the thought of her looking at another the way she looks at me.

As she has told me so many times, I simply don't know my own strength, reacting to the emotions I feel without considering how fragile she is compared to me. That might be a truth I would never dare mention in front of my lover, for the only thing I would get in return would probably be her knife at my throat, but it has nevertheless given her more than her fair share of bruises over the years.

When we were younger, I used to tell her that when I won the Games I would shower her in jewels and riches and give her everything she could ever dream of. She used to tell me as she lay in my arms that she already had everything she could ever dream of and that she didn't need jewels or riches. Then she would give me her famous death stare and tell me not to be so sentimental. I had just laughed, my laughter getting even louder as she hit me when I whispered the word 'hypocrisy' under my breath.

When we grew older and were punished by chance and fate when her name was drawn on reaping day, I soon realised that I will never be able to shower her in jewels. I watch the Capitol people, with their earrings and bracelets and diamond encrusted coat buttons, and realise that I won't live to see her dressed as their equal. Not that she would ever be their equal. She has always been a million times better than any of them. The only bracelet I will ever give her is the circle of bruises she wears now, which cause me more pain than they will ever cause her.

'I don't care,' she had said when I tried to apologise. 'I wouldn't care if you scarred me for life because it would be the only scar on my body that was put there in love and not in hate.' She must have seen the scepticism in my face, for her response was to push against my chest with all her strength, sending us both crashing back onto a huge armchair when I had the sense to pretend her tiny weight was enough to knock me off my feet.

'See,' she had said triumphantly. 'You didn't hurt me.' I had smiled then, holding her in place when she had tried to get up, and the look she had in her eyes then was the same look she is giving me now as she stares at me across the vast expanse of the gymnasium.

Maybe she really doesn't need jewels and riches. Maybe I have always known that for the truth. Maybe that is one of the many reasons why I could never want another. Maybe I know it is one of the many reasons why I have never loved her more, and why I know that I will die for her without question.


	8. Chapter 8

**This is for CareersFTW, who reminded me I said I would post it and wanted Glimmer's POV again - thanks for reviewing Beauty of Freedom too ;) **

**It's been months since I wrote this one so I know Thresh is...a bit more verbose than he should be to keep him strictly in character. I said they met three times and this is the third - as ever, don't just blame me for this pairing, blame Gethsemane as well (*waves to Geth if she's there*)**

Trap

I can honestly say that I have never been so glad to leave a place in all my life as I am to leave this stage, and it is all I can do to make myself slowly lead the procession of tributes down the steps with my back straight and my head held high when really all I want to do is run and hide.

"Get a grip on yourself, Glimmer, for Panem's sake," I hiss under my breath to myself furiously as I make my way to the lifts. After all, what have I got to be ashamed of? Enough people have told me how beautiful I am to make me believe that what they say is true, that I am beautiful, on the outside at least. It is not shame I feel though, well not entirely anyway. It is rage and anger that I feel more than any other emotion. What right do these people have to treat me like this? Like little more than an animal, that is how I feel, and what is worse is that is exactly how I believe they see me.

Before today I would never have thought a simple piece of fabric could make me feel so degraded, so cheap. I think I would almost have preferred it if they had sent me onto that stage completely naked. At least there would have been some level of honesty involved then.

As soon as I am out of sight of the cameras I cross my arms tightly across my barely covered chest, something I have had to force myself not to do from the second my stupid stylist told me that this was all the costume I would be getting when I had asked him where the rest of my dress was with a disgraceful hint of desperation in my voice. I stride quickly across the entranceway of the Training Centre, pushing various Avoxes and Capitol minions out of my way so I don't have to stop until I reach the back wall of the nearest lift. I stare at the blank wall, gritting my teeth and trying to achieve what has been a physical impossibility all evening and relax.

"We meet again, Capitol-girl," sounds a deep voice behind me.

I turn around to see him, the man from District Eleven who has haunted my dreams since the night of the Opening Ceremony, standing there blocking the lift doors, his almost black eyes once more looking like they can see through my body and right into my soul.

"Consorting with Careers," I reply acidly, shaking my head in taunting disapproval. "What would the population of District Eleven say if they could see you now?"

He doesn't answer me, but takes another step into the lift, reaching out to push the buttons for Levels One and Eleven. It is then I realise I had been so intent on escaping that I had forgotten to press the lift button and wouldn't have gone anywhere quickly. I mentally berate myself when I see from the very slight smirk on his face that it didn't escape his notice either.

"You didn't say much in your interview," I say, unable to bear the charged silence between us as the doors slide closed.

"What's the point? They want to watch me die, no more, no less. I don't think they care much if I can talk."

I turn to face him, and I smile to myself when I find myself wishing I had been dressed by his stylist. He wears a simple white shirt and dark brown trousers, and I get the impression that his clothes are a Capitol version of what he would wear every day when he went to work in the orchards of District Eleven, not that I would know much about that.

"I don't think I'd have got away with saying so little."

He looks at me then, really looks at me, before shaking his head, more to himself than to me. "I don't think they cared what you said, Capitol-girl," he says, his voice slightly teasing as his eyes don't leave me for a second.

I forget everything else but the fact that this poor and uneducated man thinks he has the right to mock me, and I cross the lift in two paces, stopping just in front of him before I remember how much taller he is than me and that I have to look up to meet his eyes.

"It worked though, didn't it? I'll have more sponsors than anyone," I snap, attempting to make him believe I had been happy with my support team's approach to the interview all along.

He reaches out and grips my upper arms, moving far more quickly than someone of his size should be able to, holding me away from him and scrutinising me intently. I soon realise that he is watching my face too, trying to detect a sign that I'm not as comfortable with my outfit as I would have him believe. I have never felt like this before, but I suppose this must be what being embarrassed feels like and I don't like it one bit.

"Let me go. Now." I say, my voice full of command, which, as I should have predicted, he promptly ignores.

"Are you saying a man like me from a lowly place like District Eleven isn't worthy of looking at you, O Great One?" he says, deliberately imitating my voice and words so he sounds nothing like his usual self.

"What if I am?" I reply, regretting my words as soon as they leave my mouth.

He pushes me away and I stumble back slightly, having become accustomed to his hands supporting me. I open my mouth to speak again when the lift suddenly stops. My first thought is that we have reached Level One but the doors don't slide open like they normally do.

I walk over to them, brushing past him as I do. He doesn't step back to allow me past. The button for my level is still illuminated and when I push the doors they don't move. This can't be happening. Why me? It is as if the Capitol people know how much I want to go to my room and change, to wash away the memory of tonight. They are probably filming me and having a good laugh at my expense. At that thought I bang my fists against the doors, pushing all of the buttons for the different levels and crying out with anger when nothing works. Then I look across and see him leaning against the wall of the lift, casually watching me lose my temper.

"Do you want to stay in here forever?" I snap. "Maybe you could at least try to move the doors?"

"I will if you will," he replies, definitely smirking this time as he answers my first question before moving on to the second. "What's the point? It's stuck. We're not going anywhere."

I sigh and lean back against the wall next to him, acknowledging that he has a point however much I resent it.

"They'll make it move. Nothing 'll happen to us, the cameras aren't rolling," he continues dryly.

I look up at him as we stand in silence, not regretting what I told him that day after training. I don't want him to join the Career Alliance. I can't bear the thought of watching him fall and ending up on the kill list of a pathetic little boy like Marvel, not that I think for a second that my arrogant and vindictive district partner could kill him. It would probably be Marvel who would come off the worst in that particular confrontation, and I am surprised by how happy that thought makes me feel.

"Are you scared?"

"To be stuck in a lift with you? Doubt it, Capitol-girl."

I lash out and hit his shoulder before I realise what I'm doing but when he looks back at me there is no hate in his eyes. He probably didn't even feel me touch him. "I meant of tomorrow," I clarify, my voice a lot quieter this time.

"Anyone who says they're not is a fool or a liar, Glimmer," he says, calling me by my name for the first time tonight. "But I can't change what happened. We're for the arena tomorrow. Being scared won't make it stop."

I slide my back down the wall of the lift to sit on the floor, tucking my knees under my chin in a rather pointless attempt to preserve my modesty. When I look up to see him still standing and towering over me, I am annoyed with myself for being so relaxed in his presence. Tomorrow we will have to try to kill each other. I am a trained Career Tribute from a district that has long held a reputation for ruthlessness and aggression that is surpassed only by District Two and he is my enemy, so why am I behaving like this? With that thought I go to push myself back to my feet, only to stop before I stand when he drops down beside me.

"Kill me tomorrow, Glimmer. We're not enemies now. The Capitol servants won't thank you if they have to clean my blood from this nice lift."

I laugh at that, just quietly, and then we sit there, side by side, my almost white, unblemished hand resting next to his mahogany brown, calloused and scarred one on the floor between us, sitting in silence until the lift whirs back to life and the bell rings to signal our arrival at Level One.

We both stand as the doors open and I look back at him as I walk away, knowing that the next time I see him will probably be the last time, for it will be from my metal podium as the Games start in the morning. I want to speak but I don't know what to say, and before I can think of something the doors of the lift slide closed again and he vanishes from my sight.

The last thing I feel as I drift into an uneasy sleep later that night is guilt not fear. Guilt at how despite all the kindness that Gloss has shown me and everything else besides, when I closed my eyes it was not his face that I saw, it was not him who I thought of but a man who will most likely die tomorrow. I find it ironic that I have so little faith in the intelligence of my other mentor, for it was Cashmere who told me that it is human nature to always desire the one you can't have above any other.


End file.
